


The Bann and the Baker

by garilin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempted Murder, First Dates, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Off-screen Rape, Referenced Discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 14:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garilin/pseuds/garilin
Summary: Shianni may be able to pick out the subtleties in politics and literature, but she still cannot tell when she's being flirted with.





	The Bann and the Baker

When Shianni was six, her mother died. Uncle Cyrion took her in.

When Shianni was six, she lost not just her mother, but her home. Uncle Cyrion lived in the Denerim alienage. It was a cage poorly disguised as a gated community. Small, decrepit houses circled a tree and lined the two paths back into the city, both obstructed by large walls of wooden beams. There were more elves squashed in than she had ever seen before in her life, so many she fears that she will be swallowed up by the crowd and never found again. Surprisingly, there was also a number of shops, indistinguishable as they were from purely residential housing. The idea of an elf living independently of the whims of humans was inspiring, despite the slow business they must have suffered. Coin was--is--in short supply.

The boy she shares a room with is older than her by a scant three years and oddly quiet. His mother's been dead for nearly a year. It's a source of kinship between them, broken and bitter as they are about it. So. They hold each other close on cold nights or whenever one of them has a nightmare. They team up against poor Soris, age four. They share chores and clothes. After a while, he feels more like a brother to her than a cousin or reluctant roommate. After a while, she starts thinking of the dilapidated hovel not as "Uncle Cyrion's house" but simply as "home".

Shianni eventually begins to feel like a member of the Denerim alienage's community--not an interloper. She gets a reputation for being a rather _spirited_ young lady. Shianni is fearless, dedicated, cunning, protective, loyal, inspired, resourceful, indomitable, and caring. A hard worker. Someone who could be depended on. Someone who also drinks a bit more than is wise or proper.

* * *

Both of her cousins are set to get married. It stings a little that they will share the day while she will watch from the crowd, a passive onlooker as they enter a new stage of life. On second thought, perhaps it stings more than a little. Shianni buries her negativity with a swig of ale and teases her boys mercilessly as they complain about their impending loss of freedom.

Soris asks her when she will be getting married. She replies that she has to wait for the elder to set up a suitable match for her.

The question sticks in her mind, though, niggling. Shianni tries to envision the sort of man she would happily wed and draws a blank. She'd had a few crushes has a girl, of course, but they were short and shallow. Whenever their attention had turned to her it had made her uncomfortable, annoyed. Marriage is a life-long commitment, a miserable one if neither of them develop feelings for the other. Worse if only one does.

Feeling vaguely nauseated, Shianni rises and dumps the rest of her drink down the kitchen sink. Soris squawks in protest, arms flailing against the couch. One strikes the man beside him in the face and they both tumble to the ground, mock-wrestling. Shianni sighs and brews herself some coffee. It's late, but she doesn't sleep much.

* * *

 

Shianni is embarrassed to admit she is already a bit tipsy when she rouses her elder cousin. He stares blearily at her for a few moments before pushing himself up to a sitting position.

He isn't pleased when she tells him Nesiara has already shown up. Shianni is unsurprised but tries to be happy for the both of them. There was no getting out of this. Hopefully he and his betrothed would learn to love each other.

Even to herself it sounds like one of those far-off hopes. Like, 'I hope my dad will come find me one day, if only so I can meet him'. Or, 'I hope one day I'll have a nice, two-story house with an ivory fountain and cooking and cleaning services'. Well, maybe not the fountain. Maybe a pool or vegetable garden.

She tells him to find Soris when he's ready. She then grabs her dress and heads to the bathroom to change. The dress fits her well; it's surprising, given how cheap it was. Shianni spends more time than necessary stuck in front of the mirror, fixing her hair and running her hands down the scratchy fabric of her garment. Her golden-brown eyes have a bit of red in them, but she refuses to be concerned.

"He'll be alright, Soris too. Neither of them are happy now, but they'll remember today as a _good_ day," she tells her reflection. It doesn't help, but when she smiles after, it's easy. It's always been easy for her to put on the brave face.

When she ventures back out of the house, she spots Valora and Nesiara easily. They are clustered in with the other bridesmaids. Valora looks as mousy as Shianni and Soris had heard described, though that is not necessarily a bad thing, as her cousin had feared. Her prominent ears and wide, kind, brown eyes make her an adorable picture. The woman seems demure, but Shianni hesitates to call it a character flaw. Valora's smile is sharp and narrow and unbelievably kind. The alienage has turned out plenty of strength, if she needs it.

The blonde beside her laughs, uproariously. Her voice is kind of raspy; it's endearing. Nesiara is rounder, visibly softer, but Shianni has the sudden mental image of her inciting--and winning--a bar brawl. She joins the group, but never quite catches up to the conversation. They splinter when the boys arrive. Shianni ducks away with the others, tapering her curiosity with the reminder that neither Valora nor Nesiara nor either of her cousins were going anywhere.

Oh, but then Vaughan Kendells shows up.

* * *

When the day is finally, blissfully over, Shianni has lost--Vaughan has lost his life. She technically lost her cousin, too, the precious almost-brother she'd shared a room and a home and a life with since she was six. But she refuses to think "lost" in the same sentence as his name, because, one day, he will return. One day, probably soon, the Grey Wardens will have business in Denerim and he'll stop by for a mug of ale and slice of pie and complain to her and Soris in exaggerated detail about every little thing Duncan made him do, from scouting to actually taking care of his own weapons and armor.

She smiles at the thought, then quietly begins to weep. Quietly, because Valora is in the bunk above her, the one she normally slept in, because her and Soris weren't married yet and it would be improper for her to stay with him tonight. Quietly, because Nesiara was sleeping on a pile of blankets on the floor at her own insistence, because the blonde was unwilling to leave either of them alone and Shianni had reluctantly refused to retreat into the home two houses down Nesiara had been going to share with her missing cousin.

Shianni wonders if Nesiara would still move in there. The deal had already gone through, but the rent was a bit steep for a single, currently-unemployed woman. Nesiara would probably have to get a roommate.

Her decision not to go there tonight had been a selfish one, but Shianni needed to be somewhere familiar tonight, with only one wall between herself and Uncle Cyrion. Shianni wonders for a moment at the care and concern expressed by the two women. They were strangers to her, and yet...

Well, they were all city elves. Knife-ears.

Shianni shudders, scrubbing harshly at her cheeks to wipe the tears from them. An arm shoots up beside the bed, fingers wiggling invitingly, and Shianni hesitates for only a moment before latching onto Nesiara hand, curling around where she holds it on the bed. Shianni peaks past the edge once with a mumbled apology and falls asleep with the image of Nesiara's drowsy grin lingering in her mind.

* * *

Valora wants to open a business, together with her husband and Nesiara and, surprisingly, Shianni. It's been a month, long enough that the redhead has tried three of Nesiara's pies, and Shianni agrees immediately.

Soris is quick to learn the recipes. Valora is good with numbers and persuasion, so she's the cashier and head of advertising. Shianni has the brilliant idea of offering coffee, alcohol, and coffee mixed with alcohol. She pushes the last item as important for success, third only to the stellar pies and the bread that's a staple in pretty much everyone's lives.

Between the five of them--Uncle Cyrion had bypassed her and Soris and given his donation to Valora--they have just enough money to rent out a space. Coming up with a name for their bakery/coffee shop/tavern takes a day of heated brainstorming.

Eventually they decide on Warm Delights. Not too glamorous a name, but serviceable. Fitting and short enough to hopefully be memorable.

When Shianni tells Uncle Cyrion about it that night, over dinner, he beams at her with more happiness than she'd thought he was capable of, after those nasty rumors of the Grey Wardens' betrayal reached Denerim. After his son died.

Her cousin and brother. It stings more than she'd thought it would. To not have him glowering sleepily at her when she wakes him in the morning. To not have him making breakfast for her and Uncle Cyrion and whoever else decides to barge in with more aggressive cheer than the task deserves. To not have him loitering in the main room, silent as a wraith as he tends to ripped clothing. To not have him stumble home after work, grumbling under his breath as he passes her by--with a crisp nod and half-hearted smile--to collapse on his bed. To not have him laughing with her and Soris and swiping gulps of her ale. To not have him kicking the bottom of her bunk when he's bored and can't sleep.

Shianni hates living with a ghost. When Nesiara asks if she'd like to move in with her as her roommate, she says yes. The second room Nesiara offers her was intended for children, but it is no more cramped than the one she's leaving. Besides, Shianni's never had many belongings.

She is sad to leave Uncle Cyrion, though. Despite his assurances, she still feels like she's abandoning him. She promises to stop by every morning for breakfast before heading in to work. She renews it when she quits her job as a maid to work solely at Warm Delights.

* * *

Her work as a barista/bartender is pleasant, calming. Most of their clientele are children and middle-aged middle-classers. The drunks mainly saunter on by to the tavern down the street; Warm Delights is probably too homey and well-lit for them. On one memorable occasion, though, one, a human, did come in to order a baker's dozen donuts and bottle of whiskey. He'd then collapsed in the corner and, after making his way through seven of the donuts, passed out for the afternoon. Valora was annoyed until she'd seen how large a tip he'd left.

Nesiara was glowing with happiness about the tiny shop's success. Her and Valora had been talking about starting a business together at least since they'd arrived, and to see it become a reality...Shianni was a little in awe herself.

Shianni wondered if the humans who came in and smiled and purchased their goods knew that the elves serving them were also the owners and investors of their little shop. They would be twice-damned as three of them were women. Shianni supposed it didn't matter, so long as they didn't know. Ah, but it still made her skin crawl and her stomach twist in on itself.

"You're quiet, today," Nesiara commented, coming up next to her to set two new pies on the display shelves.

"I'm just a little tired," Shianni assured, offering a thin-lipped smile.

Nesiara returned it and it was beautiful, the way it lit up her eyes and deepened her laugh lines. It was clear, however, that the blonde wasn't about to let it go. "Working double shifts six days a week is little much. Valora thinks that now that we're off the ground we should either hire employees or change our hours for afternoons and evenings only. What do you think about that?"

Shianni considered. "I think we should bring more people onboard. We're making an okay profit and there are a lot of people in the alienage in need of work. It would up our output, too. Maybe we could cut our menu items that aren't selling well?"

"That would be the croissants, wine, and cheese bread. We'll bring it up with Valora at our meeting tonight."

"Okay," Shianni agreed easily. Her next smile was stronger. Nesiara rewarded her with a bump to her shoulder before the blonde hustled back to the kitchen.

* * *

Training Hawen was a little awkward in that he was significantly older than her, perhaps even a bit older than Uncle Cyrion. He had been victim to a work accident that had crushed both his legs. They had healed since then, but not quite correctly. He could only stand for short periods of time. Hawen had not been compensated, of course.

At Warm Delights, they had chairs to sit in. Thanks to the placement of the coffee machine and the cups, they only had to get up when someone wanted booze or goodies. Hawen would be working the morning and early afternoon, so hopefully he wouldn't need to get into the alcohol case much. 

"How-"

Shianni jumped. Nesiara had appeared between them, smirking down at Shianni, who had bolted upright in her chair. It took her brain a moment to catch up with what Nesiara had said: "How is everything up here?"

Hawen, meanwhile, was unfazed. As a man with children, he was probably used to this nonsense. "We're fine, thank you," he replied.

Nesiara nodded in satisfaction, setting down a plate in front of each of them. Shianni gave an annoyed grunt when she saw the sandwiches, baked potatoes, and cupcakes. "I said you didn't have to serve us dinner."

"And _I_ said I liked to." Nesiara leaned against her, warm as the sunbaked road out front. Her arm draped around Shianni, casual as can be. "Well? Eat your food before more customers arrive," she admonished, voice lighter than the feathers piled on their shared roof. Shianni angled her head up to get a look at Nesiara's face, but Soris's calls for help drew her back to the kitchens far too soon.

"Thank you!" Hawen called after her. Shianni rushed to do the same.

As the blonde was now well out of sight, Shianni didn't pretend to hesitate to dig into her food. She hated being a burden on Nesiara, who already had plenty of food to fix for paying customers. Maybe Shianni would try to slip a couple silvers into her pocket on their walk home, after Valora and Soris had split off. Valora would definitely call her on it if she saw anything.

"Mind if I ask you something terribly personal and none of my business?"

"No, but I might not answer you," Shianni answered flatly, instantly on alert. Hawen had been a familiar face since she was a child, but they had never shared a conversation before his employment. She had no idea what he might ask or why. His uneasiness about it was contagious.

"It's nothing bad. I was just wondering about your relationship with Nesiara," Hawen said, voice halting but sincere.

"Our relationship?"

"Yes. I want you to know that I support the two of you being together as friends or as something-- _anything--_ else. I know it's still seen as unconventional in these parts, but so long as you two make each other happy it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

Two grown women living together, running a business with another woman and her husband? Elves, the lot of them? Maybe unconventional was the right word for it. Shianni was a bit confused about the "anything else", but the sentiment was still nice. "Thanks, but I didn't hear a question."

"Yeah, I suppose I didn't get to asking it." Hawen evidently wanted to say more, but they were saved from the awkward conversation by a group of five teens charging in, talking excitedly amongst themselves as Valora greeted them from her place far along the counter. Shianni spared a moment to wonder if Valora had overheard her conversation with Hawen before she hurried to collect their orders.

After she'd settled back into her seat, Hawen rushed to express, "I hope I didn't make you nervous. I don't think anyone would start anything over it. Certainly not anyone in our alienage, certainly not anyone who matters!"

"I know."

* * *

Shianni would never complain about it, but she hates scrubbing plates clean. There aren't that many of them; Soris or Nesiara or, when there's no one in, Shianni herself wash the dishes as they're handed back. They wouldn't have enough to make it through the day otherwise. Valora, though, she only leaves her post when they're dead and it's to go out front and draw people in.

Right now, Valora's with Soris, counting money and boxing up what wasn't sold to hand out at the alienage. She can hear them talking and laughing and maybe her cousin sings a little, though she can't make out the words. They're happy, despite the "arrange" part of their arranged marriage and how disastrous their first wedding attempt was. The second ceremony had been far less grand, just a signing of the proper paperwork with just Uncle Cyrion and Elder Valendrian in at attendance.

Thoughts of marriage bring her to her other cousin and his almost-bride. Nesiara is wiping down the counters, eyes distant. Shianni wonders if _they_ could have been happy together, if given the chance. Maybe. Maker, maybe Nesiara's thinking of him right now. They hadn't exactly known each other long, but Shianni knew--had heard--that for some people all it took was an introduction.

Well, there's no point in standing here questioning something she has little chance of guessing correctly.

Shianni speeds through the last two dishes with much care. She rinses out the sink. She gives her hands a good wash to rid them of soap, then dries them on an ugly, scratchy, orange rag. She keeps forgetting to bring in that nice green one her uncle had made a lifetime ago, when he still had the grip and dexterity for it.

Shianni waits patiently for Nesiara to finish up. When the blonde realizes she's being watched and sneaks a furtive glance at the redhead, Shianni smiles. Warmly, confidently, assuredly.

Once she's done, Shianni comes right out with it. "Do you think about him?"

Nesiara blinks, startled. "Your cousin?" Shianni nods. "Hm. I suppose, yes. Sometimes. I owe him a lot. He was a good man, someone worth remembering. I didn't have to have known him well or long to know that much."

Shianni nods again, softer this time. Thoughtfully. "Do you love him?"

This question Nesiara was ready for. "No."

"What if he's not dead? What if he comes back?"

"It would make me happy if he did, but not for myself. It would make me happy because he didn't deserve to die the way he most likely did and having him home would make you and Soris so happy neither of you'd stop smiling until your dying breaths."

Shianni tries to summon her smile back and almost succeeds.

"I would not marry him. If he came back and asked me to."

"Why not?" Shianni challenged.

"He was the best man I could possibly have been matched with, but not who I would have chosen. I think--I don't think we would have been happy together," Nesiara confessed. Her mouth was held in a solemn line. Her eyes were dry, if a bit brighter than usual.

Shianni deflated. This conversation was awfully depressing.

Wait. No. Wait, yeah, sure. It was probably nothing, definitely invasive, but Shianni had already come this far. Worse comes to worst, she could always move back in with Uncle Cyrion's, see about getting her old job back.

"You sound like you have your eye on someone else."

Nesiara's face darkened into a rosy hue and Shianni knew she was right instantly.

"Maybe I do. What of it?" Nesiara's words were harsh, but her tone outright sultry. Her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she rounded the counter's corner, leaning against its side a few scant feet from Shianni. Nesiara's bottle green eyes sparked the air as they appraised her. Dared her.

Shianni couldn't help but beam right back at her. "Well, _I_ haven't heard of you getting engaged or going on dates and, seeing as I live and work with you, I can't _not know_ if anything happening. And seeing as no one sensible would say no to you, it seems like you haven't made a move yet. So, what's the hold up?"

"You want me to make a move, do you?" Nesiara challenged, sidling a few steps closer.

Ever the elegant lady, Shianni snorted. "Clearly."

Nesiara didn't respond to that. She just kept moving closer, slowly and silently. Her smile had slipped. She looked nervous. Shianni worried for a moment she may have finally crossed a line, but she still didn't move.

Somehow, Shianni didn't realize what was happening until Nesiara delicately placed her pale, painted lips over hers with utmost, lingering care. Shianni felt her brain stall. Alas, the kiss was over before it really began. Nesiara pulled back and kept going until there was enough room to fit a mabari between them. Her face pale, her mouth agape, her fingers twisting anxiously into her gown, Nesiara looked afraid in that moment. It shattered Shianni's heart.

It buried what she first wanted to say, "So _that's_ what Hawen was talking about."

Instead, she panicked and demanded, "So, want to go on a date with me?"

She wanted to take the words back when she saw Nesiara freeze. She was glad she didn't when she heard Nesiara's laughter. It didn't sound at all like a bell.

"Yes, actually. I would love to," Nesiara agreed.

Her smile was blindingly beautiful. It physically hurt Shianni to look at it _and how had she missed this?_ How much time had they already lost? With the Blight coming and all...Plus, elves were never safe in Denerim. Especially not elves who were also _women_.

"Great," Shianni murmured, heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. Her mind raced to think of something for them to do together. Something _romantic_. "Maybe--maybe we can go for dinner and a play? There's a new one they're putting out every day this week. Or so I've heard."

"That sounds nice," Nesiara says.

Shianni chokes on her next breath because this smile is even prettier than the last. Soris walks in at that moment. He doesn't say anything, but Shianni can tell that he notices the odd atmosphere. She will probably be ambushed over breakfast tomorrow.

The walk home is filled with small talk that thankfully has nothing to do with their shared business. The problem with opening a shop with every member of the friend group is that it becomes difficult to escape it, to enrich life with things outside of it. Shianni doesn't talk as much as she usually would, too distracted, but she laughs twice as hard.

Every time her eyes catch on Nesiara's smile, or her eyes, or the curves of her body, Shianni feels her heart skip a beat. She's love-struck and they haven't even gone on their first date yet. She feels like the veil has been lifted from her eyes; everything's sharper, more colorful. When did she become such a romantic?

When Soris and Valora splinter off, Shianni fears the rest of the trek--just passing five more houses--will be unbearably awkward. It is, and it breaks through the high she'd been on since their kiss. Pursuing a romantic relationship with a friend and business partner isn't a smart move, especially not since it would be her first. Shianni has no idea of the etiquette, of what a normal progression of one looks like. Her proposition for their date had been one she'd read about people doing in fiction. Was it really-

Shianni's thoughts stall when she feels Nesiara's hand slip into hers. Shianni doesn't hesitate to return the grip. She hopes none of her anxiety had been showing on her face.

Instead of dwell on how terribly things may go, Shianni instead opens her big, fat mouth to ramble about the play they're going to see. She confesses that she's only seen one other of the writer's plays even though she refers to the woman as her favorite. She waxes poetic about allegory and race relations and metaphors for the last minutes of their walk home. They sit at the dingy kitchen table and keep talking for nearly an hour. Nesiara is not a passive listener. She draws comparisons to things she'd read, talks about her favorite book, and comments on anything that jumps out at her as particularly interesting.

They hug before bed. Shianni asks if she can tell Soris in the morning and is relieved to hear a confused 'of course'.

* * *

Shianni leaves before Nesiara wakes, as always. Uncle Cyrion is a slow eater and they all have work early in the morning. She is surprised when she doesn't see him standing over the stove when she arrives. She is unsurprised when Soris barges in not a minute later.

"So, what's going on between you and Nesiara? You guys okay?" he pesters without so much as a proper greeting.

"Why do you automatically assume it's something bad?"

Soris deflates a bit at the question. He sits at her left, the chair he'd claimed when he was but five years old, and argues, "You were both quiet on the walk home. That's usually an indicator for something being _bad_."

"Well, I'm not sorry to disappoint you. Nesiara and I are dating."

"Yeah, I know."

"What do you mean you know?" Shianni asks, irate at her own transparency.

"Neither of you are what I'd call 'subtle'. Stop deflecting already," Soris complains.

Shianni huffs. Apparently, she'd been the last to know about her and Nesiara's developing relations. " _Soris_ , we only started dating last night."

"Really?"

" _Really_."

"Huh. Well, I'm happy for you. Took you long enough," Soris said. Then, "Hey, where's Uncle Cyrion?"

"Still in bed, I suppose," Shianni tells him.

They check the clock at the same time. "I'll get him. If he's late to the docks again.." Soris doesn't finish.

Shianni nods mutely to his back. While he's gone, she gets up to make coffee. Somehow, after months of working at a coffee shop, she's still not sick of the taste.

She glances over her shoulder when she hears footsteps. Soris is standing by the table with a pinched expression. She laughs. "What, did he kick you again?" Uncle Cyrion sometimes jerked violently when startled from sleep.

"He's not there."

Shianni sighs. She dumps the coffee grounds back in their jar. "Guess he went in early. It's not like him not to leave a note, though. I'm telling him off for that next time I see him."

"Not if I beat you to it," Soris grumbles.

"I'm sure he's fine, cousin."

* * *

The day is slow to pass despite the steady flow of customers. Soris is the one to deliver lunch, much to Shianni's disappointment. He lingers up front for a while, chatting with Valora. Shianni has to shoo him to the kitchens when they start kissing. She kicks his ankle when he accuses her of being jealous.

After closing up shop, Shianni retreats there herself. "So, about our date," she begins. She pretends not to notice Soris hovering nearby. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is fine," Nesiara agrees. She says it calmly, but her eyes betray her nervous excitement.

Shianni leaves ahead of everyone else to check on Uncle Cyrion. His house is as empty as it had been when she and Soris had left that morning. She refuses to raise the alarm just yet; Uncle Cyrion could be drowning his sorrows in a tavern or filling out his boss's paperwork for him. Both have happened before. It's not _that_ late.

* * *

It's nearly noon by the time she clambers out of bed the next day. She spends a few extra minutes berating herself for her weakness before leaving her room. She'd meant to try to catch Uncle Cyrion again.

Shianni finds no one in the kitchen or the living room. She backtracks to the hall she'd emerged from and finds no one in Nesiara's room either. "Nesiara?!" she shouts through a jaw clenched with anxiety. She whirls around at the sound of the front door opening. The light pouring in makes her squint, but she can still make out a woman standing in the doorway.

"What's wrong?" Nesiara questioned.

"Nothing," Shianni responded, far harsher than she'd intended. "Sorry. I was worried."

"It's alright." Nesiara's eyes flash down her form. Shianni flushes at the realization that she's still in her nightgown. "Come out when you're ready."

The door closes softly.

A few minutes later, Shianni steps out of their shared home to find Nesiara on their stoop, curled over a book. She hesitates only a moment before sitting down beside the blonde.

"I liked your nightgown," Nesiara comments.

"Thank you."

"You hadn't struck me as a person who liked purple."

Shianni's brows raise at that. "It's my favorite color." Then it clicks. "A person can have both masculine and feminine interests."

Nesiara chuckles as she sets her book aside. Shianni fails to see the joke.

"I know," she assures. "I love baking, but growing up I wanted to be a blacksmith. I almost was."

"What happened?"

"My mother got sick. Nothing too serious, but the medicine was expensive. Both of my parents are farm hands, we have to save up during harvest to survive the winter. The dowry set us--them--back on track. Your uncle was kind enough not to demand reimbursement when the wedding didn't happen," Nesiara explained.

"We have blacksmiths here. We would miss you at the shop, but if there's something you'd rather do..."

"There are _human_ blacksmiths here. And I love working at _our_ shop. Don't you, even though it wasn't your dream?" Nesiara demands.

"It's fine. Fun," Shianni says. It would be a lie to say that she loved her work, but Shianni enjoyed it much more than cleaning mansions. Before the blonde can ask, she adds, "I never had a dream."

"Never?"

"Never," she confirms. "All I knew growing up was that I wanted to be an important part of the community. I wanted to help people and I wanted to be valued."

"I think you've achieved that. Even if it's not technically in your job description."

It warms Shianni to hear her girlfriend say that. It almost drowns out the feeling niggling at the back of her mind, the feeling that she hadn't yet lived up to her own standards. There was still more for her to do, she just had to find it.

"Why were you so worried earlier?" Nesiara asked.

"Well." She takes a deep breath. "It's probably nothing. Uncle Cyrion wasn't home yesterday morning or night, is all. Nothing too extraordinary, but with all that's happened..."

Nesiara nods in understanding. "If you want, we could reschedule our date and try to find him at the docks."

"No," Shianni refuses automatically. "By the time our next day off rolls around the play won't be showing anymore. Like I said, it's probably nothing, and I would rather have a good time out with you than waste today bothering my uncle at work and getting yelled at by his boss."

Then she sags against the banister. "Unless you've changed your mind and-- "

Whatever nonsense was about to leave her mouth was gently kissed away.

"No, I think I'm good with this plan," Nesiara assures with a broad grin. "If you're ready, we can get some late breakfast on our way there."

"Sure, where from?"

"Our shop. Unless you're sick of it."

"Hm, not yet." Shianni rises to her feet. "Think we'll see Valora there? It's her day off, but..."

Nesiara shakes her head. "Soris is dragging her along to pick out new spices with him. He wants to _experiment_."

"That sounds ominous," Shianni remarked.

Nesiara nodded her head solemnly in agreement. "Let me put this back and then we'll go," she said, gesturing with her book.

"Okay."

* * *

They say time passes quickly when you're having fun. Shianni couldn't disagree more. The air around them felt charged with stifled elation as they chatted and smiled and playfully jostled one another. Shianni would bump shoulders with Nesiara, then grab her hand and gently pull her close. Realistically, their behavior wasn't so much different as it had been when they were friends. Maybe they had been teetering on the edge of this the whole time, maybe being together romantically simply wouldn't and couldn't change who they were together for all that Shianni felt it was different. Shianni hoped it was both.

Conversation flowed easily. Shianni didn't hesitate to share her thoughts when her mind drifted to a topic that made many people, be they elf or human, uncomfortable. She wasn't a politician, but she certainly was opinionated on such matters. Nesiara was doubtful that real change was possible within their lifetimes. Nesiara was also ruthless when Shianni proposed something that simply would never work, which Shianni appreciated.

The blonde accused her of believing in people a little too much. Shianni found she couldn't argue that, strange as it was to hear herself be accused of it. Usually, people labeled her a loudmouth cynic. Nesiara said it was because of her anger.

The play was amazing in every objective way, but still Shianni cringed every time a joke didn't land. It happened on just three occasions, thankfully. Despite the multiple scenes of comic relief, the play's subject matter was still too serious for Shianni to label it a 'fun' experience. Sure, she adored it, but by the intermission she was half-regretting choosing this one to drag Nesiara to instead of a comedy.

Shianni refused to let her worries consume her. Nesiara _looked_ like she was having a good time, their arms were intertwined on their shared arm rest, and the intermission was just long enough for a heated debate on whether the Dalish ate their halla. Nesiara argued _yes_ , because the Dalish were too pragmatic to let so much meat go to waste. Shianni argued _no_ , because the Dalish romanticized the halla as people to the point where eating them would be borderline cannibalistic. Predictably, no one won. They were both stubborn.

The second half of the play held one last bad joke. Shianni felt it tear into her soul. Her wounded expression served to make Nesiara laugh, though, so there was that.

"I can't say it's my favorite play since it's the first I've seen, but I enjoyed it," Nesiara commented on their way out.

"That will change if you want it to. There are a lot of shows here. I _strongly advise_ against going to the theater across the way, they only have seating for upper-class humans. The rest of us have to stand there, eye-level with the stage."

Nesiara snorted. "Nice."

A comfortable silence descended and lingered until they arrived at the tavern they would be having their late dinner in. It was crowded at this time of day, but Shianni liked the noise. So long as no one tried to start anything with either of them, it promised a pleasant dinner out.

"So, how did _you_ like the play? Did it live up to your expectations?"

"Hm. Yes, but also no," Shianni admitted. Nesiara raised a brow at her. They both took a swig of ale. "Plot was fine. Nothing broke my suspension of disbelief. The dialogue was masterful. I liked the characters. Jessamine was the best, of course. Loved her. Avery's character arc was clear from the opening act and it progressed so slowly I wanted to go up there and smack him."

The conversation continued from there. Then it morphed into something about fruit trees Shianni wouldn't be able to recall the next day. The food was serviceable. Shianni loudly praised Nesiara's cooking over it.

* * *

The next morning Shianni awoke in Nesiara's bed. She was relieved to find they were both still clothed. Forcing herself to slip out of the blonde's embrace was painful, not just because of her moderate hangover. Before she heads off to Uncle Cyrion's, she makes coffee. Two steps from the kitchen she decides she should leave a note, too, and spends ten minutes agonizing over a few lines of poetry. She is not quite satisfied with the stanza she leaves for her girlfriend, but she knows Nesiara will appreciate it nevertheless.  

At this point, she is unsurprised to find Uncle Cyrion's home empty. She _is_ surprised to find no one in the hahren's but his irate teenage grandson. Valendrian had apparently been admitted to the hospice after coming down with some mysterious illness. The boy suggests that Cyrion may have gone there as well. Shianni dismisses the idea immediately; her uncle had been in perfect health. Besides, he would have told her and Soris _at least_ so they wouldn't tear the alienage apart trying to find him.

The hospice she marches up to is relatively new, having been opened a few short weeks ago. It also doesn't allow visitors. The statement, delivered by a beady-eyed human, freezes her fury into fear. Shianni dismisses herself politely, then walks briskly to the hovel Soris and Valora share.

Slamming her palm on the door five times merits no response. Shianni picks the lock with no small amount of skill and rushes in, firmly shutting the door behind her.

Soris is sitting at the kitchen table, in clear view. The moment she spots his red hair she opens her mouth to reprimand him for ignoring her, but then she really _sees_ him. She sees him slouched over the table, trembling, his face buried into his hands. His short nails claw clumsily but _effectively_ at his temple--she sees blood welling.

So, she closes her mouth and sits next to him. The seat she claimed last time she was here. It's been over a month since then.

"They took her--the hospice. Everyone thinks it's my fault."

"Soris, what-- "

"We killed Vaughan, and now there's all these guards and people missing. They think it's my fault." He scrubs harshly at his face, then drops his hands. His eyes are red-rimmed. His cheeks are flush. His skin is damp from crying and sweating both. "That hospice. It's a sham. I didn't even know it was here until yesterday. I just--we've been so busy. And happy. I don't. I don't."

He makes eye contact with her and Shianni almost wishes he hadn't.

"They took _Valora_ , Shianni. They took Valora and she wasn't sick! I know she wasn't sick!"

"It's okay."

"No-"

"There's more of us then there are of them, Soris," Shianni reminds, not as gently as she probably should.

Soris sniffles. "Valendrian would never approve of 'inciting conflict'. Not even when they're the ones who--who caused it."

"Valendrian's gone, too."

Soris sobs. His hands grab at one another, choking the life from each other.

"Who's going to lead us, then?"

Shianni considers that. Hawen would make a good leader. Nesiara. Soris, once he gets his composure back.

"Someone will step up," she assures him. "Just like you and our Warden Tabris stepped up to save me and Nesiara and Valora."

'Someone' ends up being her.

* * *

Warden Tabris returns to the alienage alive and well and with a charming lover in tow. Shianni is happy to see him, happy he's alive, but she wishes he could have returned to find them in better circumstances.

So many, including his father, could very well be dead. Soris, Shianni, and Nesiara had moved back into Uncle Cyrion's home so they could watch over one another, sleeping in shifts. Also, it's a central location for the interim hahren to lead from. Soris and Nesiara had insisted on keeping Warm Delights open. Hawen and two of his sons had completely taken over Shianni's job for the time being. She and Nesiara hung onto each other when they could, though they hadn't been on their second date yet.

Her cousin didn't seem at all surprised by what he'd found coming home. The only thing he seemed to be concerned about was the Blight. Shianni tried not to be hurt by that.

But he helped them out. Luckily enough, Uncle Cyrion, Valora, and Valendrian were among the ones he was able to save. Then he was gone

Later, they would help him protect their homes. Later, Warden Tabris would have saved Ferelden.

* * *

When she is asked to take up the mantles of hahren and bann, Shianni supposes she shouldn't have been surprised. She has been an outspoken member of the community since she came here at age six. Shianni is still a 'spirited' young lady who drinks too much, but now she has some semblance of power and a girlfriend to keep her tied down to earth.

She no longer works shifts at Warm Delights, but she pops in whenever she can. Valora is still jumpy after her ordeal, but she always has a smile for whoever walks through the front door. Nesiara is radiant, cracking jokes with Soris as she beats dough to within an inch of its life. When Shianni asks her about a second date, the blonde says 'yes'.

Shianni actually has _ideas_ this time, but she agrees when Nesiara says she'll surprise her with something nice. That 'something nice' ends up being a home-cooked meal and traded massages, which then turned into something more.

For their third date, Shianni takes Nesiara to the botanical gardens. When they get home, she grills up some fish.

Her first step in bettering the alienage is opening a real clinic, funded mostly by taxes. The human leaders aren't happy about it, of course, but there was only so much they could contest it after the Dalish and alienage elves both worked to save Denerim. After a city elf was named Hero of Ferelden. The public was supportive of elves for the moment. Keeper Lanaya knew how to make nice. 

Next, the abandoned orphanage is fixed up and reopened as a school. Nesiara asks her about what they would then do with future orphans. Shianni assures her that they would be taken in by someone in the community. If no one else volunteers, _she will_.

The two projects had seemed small in her mind, but it takes Shianni months of verbal sparring and physical labor before they're finished. She still makes time for Nesiara, but she loses count of dates. Some nights they simply sit and read together, others they find something fun and relatively cheap to do in the city. At some point Soris protests that she should have guards with her, but she laughs him off. Her and Nesiara are both plenty capable. Besides, if someone were to attack Shianni, it would be admitting that elves were important enough for the influence of one young upstart to be feared.

Eight months after the Blight tore into Denerim, Shianni asks Nesiara to marry her. The proposal is delivered casually over a stew dinner at their kitchen table in their shared home. A week later, they are married wrapped in gold and blue. It's a large wedding because of who they are, but there is still little pomp and circumstance in the affair.

Nine months after the Blight tore into Denerim, city guards swarm the alienage. They arrest anyone who seems suspicious, manhandling them to the nearest jail cell. Hawen's eldest is killed. The resulting riot kills another three elves, plus one human. In the chaos, Shianni, while trying to calm everyone, is stabbed in the abdomen by an unknown assailant.

Eleven months after the Blight tore into Denerim, Nesiara and Shianni adopt an eight-year-old who had lost one parent to the darkspawn and another to the riot. His name is Ina'ean and he loves griffins. Nesiara and Shianni love him and each other. Life is beautiful, and free, and riddled with troubles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the read! I know this is kind of rough. I went over a year without writing at all before taking this project on, after all. Constructive criticism, or any kind of feedback, would be appreciated.


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